


Do the Sins of the Father Rest with the Son?

by Sammierae



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sammierae/pseuds/Sammierae
Summary: Is goodness and strength of character inherited or learned? Will history be our making or just our guide?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28
Collections: Outlander





	Do the Sins of the Father Rest with the Son?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I felt there was a missing chapter that could tell us about Jaime's lingering conflicts about the past and about William's growing character, both inextricably linked to one another. I mean this to enhance the portion of Drums of Autumn when Lord John and William (Willie), his step-son and the ninth earl of Ellsmere, and Jaime's biological son, visit Jaime and Claire on Fraser's Ridge, North Carolina. To set the context: Lord John is stuck down with measles and Jaime has to remove Willie from the Ridge for at least 6 days to ensure Willie does not also catch the disease. This story is what happens during those 6 days.

Though it had been years since Jaime had been in the Scottish highlands, his legs had been formed and fired traveling up and down those hillsides. Muscle memory carried him steadily back up the Carolina hill as dusk approached. He had to get back to the lad before night set in. If William followed Jaime's direction he'd be gone at full dark, though even then Jaime was sure he could catch up with him fairly easily - how quickly could a frightened 12 year old go in the wilderness in the night? Jaime knew from experience, however, that sometimes fear was a great motivator - causing one to either completely freeze or somehow giving one absolute god-like speed. He picked up his pace wanting to spare the boy either or both. He also wanted to cut short the ignominy of the perceived retreat as he was sure William was fuming about, in between his moments of terror.

As Jaime approached the trees he heard the horses before he saw them. He quieted his walk. He needed to make sure for himself they were their horses, that this was where he would find his boy. Once again he internally snorted at the appropriation and then physically whisked it away with his hand, like a fly.

He spied their mounts, hobbled and quiet. But he did not see the boy. Where the devil was he, Jaime thought, irritation rising faster than his concern.

Rather than panic Jaime channeled his emotions about the boy not being where he was told to be into anger, which seemed a more satisfactory approach somehow. Certainly it was an emotion he felt he knew how to manage – more than the creeping danger their journey together presented to Jaime, and to the lad, not to mention Claire and all the others dependent upon him, were the secret of the boy’s paternity to become exposed. 

But now, adding on top of that low simmering boil was the destruction of the village; the despair in the faces of Nacognaweto and his Tuscororan people. And the smell - oh god, the smell - of the burning long houses and the dead. It was the known but unremembered battlefield of Culloden that walked with Jaime into that glen; it was the Highlands in the years that followed. The senseless destruction of a defeated people, the terror, the loss, the despair, the starvation, always wanting, always needing, no sense of relief ever to come except in death – and even then the despair for those left behind he felt would make one a ghost never able to rest. He felt himself filling with all of it - the experiences of his people, his family, ones he knew and ones he did not. He carried the guilt of not having been able to save them from so cruel and systemic a torture and destruction. He felt himself filling like an open cistern in one of the tropical storms he had barely survived - like to overflow in grief and rage and fear at any moment were the storm not to subside.

He uncharacteristically stumbled on a log and broke a rotted branch with his shin, uttering a Gaelic oath under his breath and sharply inhaling at the pain. If someone other than the boy was about they would know he was there now. He sighed, placed his left hand on his dirk handle and started a sweep of the perimeter of the glen, working sunwise so the forest was to his left, his knife hand. In case any wee beasties or persons laid in wait for him from any direction, he could strike quickly. The glen itself seemed empty and quiet, save the horses.

He relaxed a little. There appeared to be nothing amiss - and yet. 

Jaime readjusted his plaid over his shoulders and head to ensure its coverage of any brightness of his shirt or hair and cautiously, silently now, became a shadow along the ground as he entered the edge of the glen on his belly searching for the boy. The dusk-filled glen was empty but for the horses calmly munching the undergrowth.

It was fully dark. Now he was beyond irritated and tired, grief stricken and hungry, all combined at once. He had told the boy to leave at dark without hesitation and here the minutes of dark were settling in and no boy, no movement, but the horses were still here. Anger and concern were warring in him for supremacy. 

He dropped his kilt from his head and shoulders in a frustrated shrug and as he rose from the floor of the glen a blood curdling cry of triumph erupted from his right, about twenty feet away, from where he had observed a fallen branch or two. Leaping up from lying flat on the ground to launching himself at Jaime, William flew through the air and now hung about Jaime’s neck like a very heavy amulet. Jaime exhaled sharply not from the thrust of the boy's weight, but from the relief flowing through his bones like waters on a mill wheel washing down and up and over again. He set the boy down, hugging him back as tightly as the boy hung on his neck, his dirk clutched in his left hand as he had wielded it instinctively at the boy’s yell.

Had there been enough light in the glen, Jaime would have seen William’s embarrassment by the deep scarlet of his face. As it was "er...um...uh..." was all William could get out - embarrassed by his own sense of relief and the resulting outburst - while also proud that his hiding spot had not been uncovered by Mr. Fraser.

"It's full on dark, lad, I told ye to leave at dark, no hesitation," said Jaime - also covering his own emotion with the dark and his brusque manner. He couldn't see William flush, but he could sense his tension rising. He felt simultaneously annoyed with the boy, annoyed at himself for missing the boy in the fallen branches, and proud of the boy for his abilities. 

"That was a braw job of hiding, though, son," he quickly added, and then wanted to beat his head for using the appellation "son" - what possessed him to do such a thing?

But William did not notice - he had already moved on from his terror as any 12 year old boy does once the danger has passed. He was elated as he told Jaime his thinking through of his hiding place - about the arc of the sun, and the position of the trees, and the natural lay of the land and the detritus in the glen. The night breeze started to dry the sweat of excitement and tension on both their brows. 

"We can camp here this night," said Jaime. "We will start back in the morning."

"But," started William and then stopped as Jaime turned and started making camp.

"But," William started again, "What of the Indians?"

"They mourn their dead," Jaime simply said, "We should leave them to it."

"But, Mr. Fraser," continued William, not to be deterred, "We came so I could see the Indians, and I want to see them." He stuck out his chin stubbornly. 

Jaime slowly turned and started to feel anger winning the day as concern fell back into retreat on the emotional battlefield the last hours had been.

"My lord," he started, attempting to hold his temper in check with the formal salutation, "as I said, they mourn their dead, they are just not able to receive visitors, even noble ones. We should leave them to it, and start the return trip." As he spoke, he felt rather than saw, the stubborn set of William's shoulders and knew a fresh assault was about to be unleashed upon his tired back. He wryly thought to himself: how can one's worst natures be passed onto one’s children – this must be the stubbornness Claire is always referring to - he will have to remember to tell Claire about this as she will get a certain satisfaction from it. 

  
Rather than await the onslaught of 12 year old imperiousness he tried an offensive move of his own.

"Ye won't come away, ye won't now go back. Must we argue about this again, my Lord? Do ye no remember what happened last time?" when clearly William did as he reflexively protected his stomach with his crossed arms.

But William wasn't done yet.

"No," William replied, screwing up all his remaining courage despite his fatigue. He must be heard on this. “Sir,” he assailed Jaime. "You misunderstand me."

Jaime had just lit the kindling with the flint and so could now see the boy more clearly. His chin was set, as were his shoulders, with his own small-framed Fraser stubbornness, but his eyes were full to the brim with concern, not anger, and he near to tears with frustration, though his voice was steady.

Jamie set back on his heels and waited, tilting his head in anticipation. 

William stood there, adjusting his words in his head before he spoke again. 

His heart hurt just a bit while a smile secretly tugged at his mouth when Jaime straightened his head up as he realized William was tilting his head, preparing his assault, at just the same angle Jaime’s had waited. 

Jaime cleared his throat, which startled William out of his thoughts and into speaking again.

"You misunderstand me, Sir. I want to return to Fraser's Ridge as soon as I can to see my father, but, you see, I only meant, well, we brought gifts for the Indians, and things to trade with them. If they have suffered such a loss, will they not need these items more so now than before?" the words rushed out of William.

Jaime started to rise, as if to formally give an answer.

Knowing his opportunity to make his case was almost closed, William spat out one last thought, "And even if you say they will have nothing with which to trade with us, couldn't we make some sort of exception or some sort of credit, just now, now that they are so in need?"

At this, Jaime stopped and looked at the boy. 

"Aye," he responded, just as suddenly out of anything more than a one word response as the boy seemed out of breath in making his case.

Having made his decision, Jaime ended the conversation: "Aye, in the morning I will bring them what we have to give, I will make those arrangements, my lord, as you have suggested. Now, we eat and then sleep." 

They were both quiet for the rest of the evening in agreed purpose and compromise.

William moved to help set up the camp in the dark, gathering the bows he had used as a hiding place to the spot where Mr. Fraser had started the fire. He was glad of the light - the dark seemed to have set up permanently in his mind, despite his eyes having adjusted to the forest evening light. He felt his darkness was now different, rather than the darkness he had been carrying with him all these days that seemed to swirl in between pictures in his mind of his mother and now of his step-father. Now he felt a different sort of darkness - less sad and more...angry? William wasn't sure, but he felt it differently.

Jaime set about making camp with very little to say. He was gratified that William seemed to know what to do with little direction. It relaxed him a bit to not have to speak, to direct the gathering of fire wood, to ask William to fetch some water. It reminded him a little of his days in Ardsmuire prison, when he and his men had developed a rhythm that suited their situation. Language became the long way around short-cuts of known patterns and the understanding of each other's basic needs. Rare to find that, thought Jaime, rarer still in one so young, and one so privileged he added in his mind, shaking his head internally. 

Perhaps, Jaime wondered, it was William's lack of siblings and, generally, youngsters his own age to grow-up with that made it easy for him to hear the unspoken needs of himself in that moment. Or perhaps...perhaps there was a bond, unacknowledged always, but there, nonetheless, that made it easier? Best not to dwell on it, Jaime thought, and shook himself free of the moment. It would not drown out what he had just seen and smelled anyway.

William, atune to the man but a boy after all, could not help but ask the question: "Mr. Fraser, please, can I come down to the vil...ah...encampment tomorrow with you?" 

"Nay, lad, ye canna. It's too dangerous - you may contract the disease here,” and then, Jaime thought, what would have been the point of taking him away from the Ridge? 

William appeared to acquiesce. A bit too easily, thought Jaime, but he was too tired and heart sore to think much on it. He missed Claire and the way her manner and her hips kept him grounded. She was his solid footing when he felt events try to spin him away, swirling in memory that felt too much like the present.

He and William ate in silence. Jaime had a bit of whiskey. He offered the lad some, cut with water. Not wanting to seem unmanly, the lad took it and swallowed it down but could not keep himself from making a face like a man tasting sour onions for the first time - eyes watering, nose and mouth puckered.

“Ugh,” he blurted out and then regretted it, thinking it was rude in light of the enjoyment he had clearly seen Mr. Fraser take at the foulsome beverage.

Jaime chuckled. “Dinna fash, my lord,” he said, “as the first drink is the worst. It gets much smoother after that,” and Jaime took another sip.

After a few more sips of the whiskey, William was feeling courageous enough to ask, "Mr. Fraser, can you tell me what you saw?" 

"I told ye, my lord, they burned their own village and the many dead in their longhouses. There were too many for them to bury, so few of them left." 

"Have you ever seen such a thing before, Mr. Fraser?," William asked curiously, as if he thought perhaps Jaime had. 

"Aye," replied Jaime, "But I dinna think I should tell ye about it.”

William set his shoulders and Jaime prepared for the argument. But before William could say anything Jaime continued.

“It is the sort of thing that gives grown men nightmares, and I’m giving you the full truth of it as you’re man enough now to hear it." 

Jaime saw the lord straighten up in his seat. 

"Mr. Fraser," replied William slowly, "it is true that I am a young lord, but Father says I am a young man before I am a lord and that my job as a man is to know what it is to be in and of this world, to know my fellows, my enemies as well as my friends, to know the bad as well as the good, because without both sides of the coin, he says, there is no coin at all. Do you know what he means, Mr. Fraser?" asked William, earnestly and seriously. 

"Aye, I do," and for not the first time in these few days he was overcome with gratitude for John's influence on William. 

"Aye, and your father is right," said Jaime, "so I shall tell you what I saw and I shall tell you how it makes me feel because your father is right and you should know your enemies as well as your friends because I am your friend but once upon a time many saw me as your enemy." 

The boy nodded solemnly and awaited Jaime's promise. 

Jaime sighed, "You ken Culloden, aye?" he started.

"Yes," replied William quickly, "It was a great English vic..." and his voice trailed away and he blushed scarlet, burning out the top of his head, as he ducked his chin at Jaime's raised eyebrow.

"Well," agreed Jaime quietly,"ye could say it was someone's great victory, or ye could say no one truly wins and everyone truly loses when there is a slaughter of such magnitude, when there is no ground enough for each man to get his own grave; the dead were burned in pits and piles and nothing is left of the men who lived and loved their families; their children and women left behind to starve. And starve they did."

"They did?" asked William, genuinely shocked. He clearly never heard this part of history before. What was it Claire always said - her history books were short on the aftermath of Culloden because they were written by the English. The suffering of the occupied Scots was passed over as a sad tale around a campfire. How fitting, he thought, as he continued to carefully tread his way through the aftermath of Culloden with the ninth Earl of Ellsmere.

"Aye, they did," affirmed Jaime. "After the English routed the Scots at Culloden, his majesty Prince Charles fled, but the common Scot, mostly women and children, was left to bear the planned assault by The Butcher, Cumberland, and his redcoats."

"But," William hesitated to ask but so wanted to understand, it seemed so important to Mr. Fraser. But he stopped, asking permission to ask. Jaime gave him a slight nod, prodding him on. 

"But," continued William, "I was taught the Duke of Cumberland was pursuing traitors to the Crown, men who were sympathizers with the usurper."

"Aye," Jaime conceded, "that sounds about right. But the Butcher," he refused to call him Duke and William noticed it, "the Butcher allowed his men to pursue traitors, under the law, and he gave them free reign to take food and demand quarter from Scottish families. But men unleashed often take more than they are due and they were encouraged to do just that. They ate stores and we would not have begrudged a man a meal, but they also burned crofts after they had stolen more than they could eat. They murdered the women and children of the men who had survived Culloden alongside those who were caught, and they murdered the families of the men they could not find to have someone with the name killed on the roles. They took our weapons, defenseless and starved as we were, but they took our tools, our kilts, our clans, our customs; they took it all to take away the men's pride and the women's honor. Aye, it's true they burned our villages but they were about destroying our heart as well."

William sat with eyes wide, but dry, along with his mouth. His mouth was dry because of the whiskey but also because it hung open at the pictures Jaime’s words painted of young lads like him being murdered. 

He was shocked at the images, but also shocked at the frankness and honesty of Jaime's words. No adult had ever talked to him with such sincerity and depth before, save his own father now and again. He was aware of the enormity of the trust Mr. Fraser had put in him. He shut his mouth, and tried to swallow. Jaime heard the swallow and handed William some water, without hesitation, but did not turn to him.

"The smell, today," started William, slowly. Jaime finished his thought for him, to his great relief, "Aye, that is the smell of burning men and women and children. Sick, this time, not defeated, but simply brought down by an illness."

"Some say illness is brought by God," said William, "Do you believe that, Mr. Fraser?"

"Well," Jaime replied, "Mrs. Fraser says illness is brought by wee little things we canna see call gerrrrrms." He said it with an elongated rolled rrrrrr to try to lighten the mood just a little. "And I trust her on matters of healing more than anyone, so I won't say God has nothin to do wi it, but then again I think he may have help."

That answer, and the bottom of his whiskey, sufficiently sent the boy's head spinning, He decided perhaps he'd had enough adult talk for one day, and promptly laid down by the fire and was asleep in a moment.

Jaime sat up and watched the boy sleep and looked into the fire and smelled the crofts burning. 

What have I done, he thought to himself. I have fathered…No, he stopped. No. I sired, that is all. I sired a boy who is the ninth Earl of Ellsmere, another English lord who may someday burn crofts, for the English crown, doing his duty but with what sort of mercy? Will he be like The Butcher? Could he? What might turn him from one to the other or back? What event in The Butcher's life made him the demon he was? Could this story he just told the boy create some lasting impression on William and help him keep his humanity intact during what Claire keeps referring to as the coming wars in the Colonies - will William fight? Will he soldier like his father and his step-father? What sort of soldier will he be? What sort of leader?

For the first time, Jaime was not terrified for the boy but rather terrified of the boy - who had he begot – and the future he had wrought?

He lay the night haunted by visions of the past - visions he had seen, visions he had been told about, and visions of a future with his son as a good man and his son as a handsomer version of The Butcher. All the while he could not get the smell of the burning Indian village out of his nose. Eventually he slept the grateful but reluctant sleep of a war weary soldier, for an hour or so, but even his rest was occupied by ghosts of the dead and living, ghosts of those who never had a chance to live their full lives granted by God and stolen by man.

An hour before dawn Jaime rose and quietly walked into the forest around their glen and threw up what little remained of their dinner the night before. He walked back to the fire, stirred it, and put water on to boil for some tea. The boy stirred but didn't wake. Just as well; Jaime needed a bit more time with his thoughts. He had resolved what he wanted to show the boy, but he had to figure out how to make it seem like not that big of a change in plans. He was resolved to it by the time the boy woke, with the sun just rising.

William opened his eyes to the big Scot sitting in his reclaimed tartan, drinking tea and looking all the world a gentleman and a savage, all at once. And then he remembered he wanted to see real savages and he was resolved to make that happen. "Good morning, Mr. Fraser," he said with all the politeness he could muster. 

Jaime raised an eyebrow as if to say with that single look "Don't push me, my lord, I’ve spanked you before," but of course he said nothing except, "Saddle up, my lord, we are going to give the goods to the Indians this morning and then we are going to turn towards home. We won't stay long, but we will stay a respectable amount of time, and, you, my lord, will get to see them, from a distance, but you will not approach them upon pain of further determination by me later. Is that clear?" asked Jaime.

The boy was so stunned at this turn of events that he simply opened and closed his mouth a few times. 

"Are the conditions of this ambassadorial trip clear," asked Jaime again, adding "my lord" at the end for emphasis.

"Yes, Mr. Fraser, they are clear and I shall abide by them," replied William, "You have my word." Jaime had to look away quickly to hide his dismay and amusement at the use of the phrase so like himself, so like John, all at the same time. He went to the horses to finish their tack adjustments.

The walk to the encampment was only a few hours. They arrived as the few Indians left were finishing their meager breakfast. Many of the braves and women who survived the sickness were still too weak to hunt or gather so food was sparse. They were greeted by a scout on the outskirts of the encampment and Jamie was escorted in to see Nacognaweto. William followed direction and stayed with the horses, but he could see everything.

William saw Jamie go into the teepee with the elder man who came out to greet him. He was nervous he might never come out, until he really started looking at the camp. The people who were left looked hollow - but more than exhausted: broken of spirit. There were children, but they did not play; there were women but they did not talk over their work like they did at the estate back home. The silence of the camp made William uneasy, but also sad, so very sad. He could not help remembering the silence of his own mother when she was sick and the silence that seemed to surround him when she finally died. He knew he had screamed her name but he doesn't remember hearing anything - not from her, not from himself, not from the men who held him back from her on her sick bed. The silence in the camp was like that silence that lasted, oh, it seemed years, but it couldn't have been because it was not years before they docked in the Indies. Then his father was there. And the first thing he heard after all that time was his father calling his name, William, William, followed by the strong thumping of his father's heart as he clung to him. Then he fainted and heard nothing again, not until he woke himself up crying for his mother. His father answered his call immediately with soothing words and a cool cloth for his head. He had been so hot. He was so hot again, remembering. He felt he should do something, anything, to break the silence. But he kept still. He understood somehow this was their silence to keep. 

Mr. Fraser came out of the man's home now. William knew the time of leaving was imminent - he knew he had to make a decision, and he hoped his father was both going to understand this decision or be alive to be angry about it, at least. Mr. Fraser approached him.

"No, not yet, please, Mr. Fraser," begged William. 

"You are not going any nearer, my lord, and that is final and we are not to argue about it," said Jaime quietly, but finally. 

"No, that is not what I want," said the ninth Lord Ellsmere. Jaime stopped, wary of that imperious tone. "What I want," continued the young lord, attempting to tamp down the highness of his voice tinged with anxiety, "is to trade my horse to the Indians. And my portion of the food set aside for our return trip, and...and...my bedroll as well, and my tack, and...oh...I don't know, Mr. Fraser, anything else I can possibly spare," he finished with a proud but wobbly voice. 

Jaime turned slowly and faced the boy. "My lord," he said slowly, "Are you sure?" "Quite," replied William. "But I do not want to shame any of them. They have little, but they have their pride. You said they were likely to go north, towards Virginia, to join their... kinsmen? Isn't that right?" "Aye," replied Jamie, wondering where the boy was going with this. "Well, could you present my things to the Chief and tell him that in return my father and I would appreciate an introduction to the native peoples living by my land in the Colony. Seems a horse and some bannock is well worth a proper introduction to one's neighbors, wouldn't you think, Mr. Fraser, sir?" he finished hopefully and feeling a little out on a tightrope with his reasoning. He had no idea of the geography of the matter, but wondered did it matter? 

Jaime saw the young man square his shoulders, expecting a fight. But he did not give him one. He quickly turned to the lad's horse, undid the saddle, explaining with a hoarse, emotionally laden voice that the Indians view that tack as unnecessary. He gathered their blankets and their food, he kept a water bottle and a frying pan and their fishing poles knowing the trip home would be heavy with fish, and he brought it all back down to the encampment. 

Nacognaweto was surprised to see Jaime back again. He stood slowly and came out of his grief filled camp, back into the light. It seemed a great thing to ask him to do right at the moment - could not these guests leave. He was taken aback by the horse and the blankets and the food. His grand daughter interpreted: Jaime was leaving all these things with him and his people on behalf of the boy standing by the edge of the encampment who insisted they be traded for an introduction to their neighbors on land the boy and his father were heading to up North. Nacognaweto was confused. Clearly Nacognaweto was old but his eyesight was still good. Jaime was the boy's father, and Nacognaweto said so, and asked if they intended to travel with them, why leave these precious things behind? Jaime stilled his face. He explained the boy's acknowledged father was back on Fraser's Ridge, and Nacognaweto would meet him in the future if he choose to make this trade. Nacognaweto tilted his head. It was no matter to him who sired the boy, clearly the young man's instinct was a good one and should be nurtured. Yes, Nacognaweto conceded, he would make the trade. And he promised to keep an eye out for the young man and his "father", other than clearly the man standing before him. Jaime bowed to Nacognaweto and that was the end of the trade – he turned back to the boy.

Nacognaweto was tired, but a little less so now, wondering if the gods had cursed them with illness, perhaps they had blessed them , to awaken this young man's instinct for giving. He knew his heart would hurt again before he died, but in this moment it lifted just a bit.

Jaime and the boy walked off into the forest.

As the left the encampment, William realized what he had done and wondered how they would settle who would ride and who would walk. Jamie answered him without his having to ask the question. "The horse has to carry both saddles now, and even if we catch fish and gather nuts and greens, we will be better off too tired at the end of the day than not so tired, in case we also are a little hungry. Let's walk home together, shall we, my lord?" offered Jaime. And William agreed.

Jaime did the calculation in his head as they walked - 3 and a half days out, when really it should have taken just 2, but with the trading and all - but Claire said to be gone at least 6 days.

The young lord walked quietly along, his brow furrowed in thought. Jaime watched him out of the corner of his eye. 

Jaime could see the thoughts in the lad's head pile up like so many logs behind a beaver's dam - he figured it would not be long before that dam sprung a leak, the question was, thought Jaime to himself, would the leak be words, punches, tears? With a 12 year old Ninth Earl of Ellsmere, who had been given free reign his entire life and suffered little restraint, there was little telling when or how the leak would present itself. Nothing to do but wait for it.

So Jaime went back to his own musings, wondering himself at his own visceral reactions to the smell of the burning village and then his enormous pride and humbleness at the young lord's response. His guilt at his relief that his own wife and children were safe, but his enormous guilt and grief for all the crofters and their families who were not - all because he and his fellows were defeated on a battlefield they never should have taken.

Live by the sword, die by the sword - he knew that was how it went. But that was not for the women and children. And no one ever talks about the survivors after the sword and the fact that they live or die depending on weeds, the weather and the cruelty or mercy of the victor. 

Jaime felt his own dam leaking rage and tried to hold it back for the sake of the young lord walking beside him. A necessary lesson he had just been taught about survival and mercy but Jaime was not at all sure he was the right one to teach it, though he felt impossibly blessed to have been there for the learning. 

"Mr. Fraser?" spoke William.

Ah, here it comes, thought Jaime.

"Aye, my lord?" responded Jaime with as even a voice as possible given his recent thoughts. 

"I know my horse was mine to give," slowly the young lord reasoned out loud, "and I truly believe that giving it was the right thing to do, you see, under the circumstances," he rushed on. "I mean, you saw them, how weak the survivors were, how much more desperately they needed my horse and my things than I have ever had need of them," he said, almost pleading with Jaime to confirm his memory of the encampment and they people there.

"Aye," was all Jaime said, in response. 

"It's just..." the young lord's voice trailed off.

Jaime did not help him along. He had made this decision, as a young man. As a young lord he had to reason it out and figure out how to justify it and stand by it - to himself, to his father and to whoever else asked.

"It's just," the young lord's voice was a bit stronger now as his thoughts fell into place, "I do wonder how my father will respond and, well, you've known him a very long time, I gather, and, well, I was wondering if you have any thoughts yourself about that, that you might be willing to share with me."

Jaime paused before answering.

"Well, my lord, my relationship with your stepfather is different than yours, ya ken?" Jaime asked.

William nodded.

"But, he has always been fair, and," Jaime surprised himself at this answer, "he has always been patient with me and listened to what I could or would share with him, given any situation we were in." Ah, another log behind the dam of Jaime's thoughts and emotions just came roaring down the river. "Are you asking my advice as to how to approach Lord John with the piece of information about your missing livestock?" asked Jaime.

"I am, sir," responded William, very seriously.

Jaime was having a hard time containing his smile at the seriousness of the young lord. 

"My advice, then, my lord, is you tell him just what you just said to me, perhaps a bit slower so he can fully understand you," said Jaime. 

Jaime glanced over at the lad and thought had he had ink and parchment, and a flat surface on which to write, the boy would have been writing a script, he was listening so intently.

"Most important, though, my lord, is this," Jaime paused for effect, and stopped the horse and faced the young lord. William was rapt with attention, staring at the large Scot. 

"Most important is ye stand by your convictions, ye stand by yer decision, and ye take whatever the consequence of it bravely, ye ken?" Jaime wondered if the lad truly did, recalling the need to gut punch him to start this journey in the first place. But that seemed like more than just 4 days ago. 

"Yes, sir," replied William, looking up at him with absolute respect.

Jaime continued, "Ye ken, my lord, being a man in the world is not about never making mistakes, I ken because I've made many. But it is about facing the consequences of those mistakes, doing yer best to right the wrongs, or stand up for what ye believe in, even if others think it wrong. Any man can stand behind the lines of battle and be calm, but it takes a special man, a man of worth, to stand with grace under fire directly," concluded Jaime.

William was silent for a moment, thinking hard about Jaime's words. He then squared his shoulders and said, "I understand. And I thank you for your sound advice." William replied. He nodded his head at Jaime, not as a dismissal but as a final show of respect and then he and Jaime simultaneously turned and started walking again towards home.

****

Jaime could hear Clarence the mule announcing their approach, and he knew Claire could, too. What he did NOT know was whether his friend and William's step-father, Lord John, could hear him or perhaps could he not because he had died in the intervening days from the illness. Here was that moment when all things were possible all at the same time - John was alive and all was well, and John was dead and all was yet another tragic turn.

As they approached, Jaime knew he had to speak to Claire, alone, to discuss the missing healer and her daughter, the illness reaching the village that lead to its destruction and the abandonment by Nacognaweto and the survivors. William would take Lord John fishing to show him his new skill at tying flies and casting, and so they had delayed their return until the last afternoon of the sixth day at dusk, the perfect time to fish. 

Not once did they discuss the possibility of Lord John's death. 

Jaime smelled the lye in the air and knew Claire must have washed out the cabin, including the sheets. But she only did that at the end of the sickness. So, their timing was correct, whatever the outcome. No sense in delaying, then, and he picked up his pace a little, matching the boy's anxious pace.

Claire looked up from the clean sheets she was smoothing over the drying line with her hands when she heard Clarence braying. It seemed to take longer than it should for whoever was approaching the cabin clearing to come out from the forest, but in that moment Lord John exited the cabin to helpfully air out the quilts. He was moving himself to the corn crib, realizing Claire had neither slept a full night in 6 days, nor slept on a bed at all, and since he was feeling much restored, he thought she would appreciate the gesture. She certainly did, as evidenced by the special care she seemed to have given lunch, or, perhaps having his appetite restored after a week of illness just made it special. Regardless, they were more at ease with one another, for which he was both grateful and chagrined. He figured if he had to share Jaime with someone, not that he had a choice about it, he may as well have picked Claire, and he was beginning to like her, after all. 

Young Ian was also feeling better. He and Rollo were observing the cleaning from under a blanket on a bench by the open door of the cabin as the scent of fresh bread was wafting in the evening breeze.

When Jaime and William stepped out of the forest and into the clearing around the cabin they saw Claire and Lord John shaking out what appeared to be a clean sheet, together, and laughing at something Ian had just said. That tableau was swiftly altered by William running across the clearing in a decidedly un-lord like way and throwing himself into his step-father's arms, just avoiding dragging the sheet with him by Claire's quick jerk of the material out of Lord John's hands. She stood back, grinning from ear to ear, with the satisfaction of a patient recovered and the accompanying joy of a loved one returned. 

She turned to Jaime, enormous grin in place and froze. The expression on his face was unreadable, but she knew something was terribly amiss. His gait was slower, his shoulders hunched, he was clearly happy to see John's recovery, for himself as well as the boy, but he held himself as if in great pain. She tossed the sheet to Ian and told him to mind Rollo and if he dirtied that sheet then he'd be washing it again himself, sick or no. She ran to Jaime.

Jaime saw Claire rush to him and dropped the horse's lead and enveloped her in his arms. His head and heart, full to the breaking point and roiling, were temporarily calmed by her presence up against him, which was soon punctured as she pushed herself off his chest and started patting him from crown on down, asking him if he was bleeding, had been shot, fell, been poisoned, was in pain, did his left arm hurt (that was an odd one), and on and on. He stood it until she attempted to feel under his kilt and he grabbed her wrist - "Just what are ye doin', lass, here in the middle of the barnyard?" She was caught up short, stared at him in amazement "What am I doing? I thought that would be obvious. You're clearly hurt and I'm trying to see where," she a little too forcefully replied.

"Och," said Jaime using that all-encompassing Scottish sound. "It's not a wound of the flesh, Claire. And not one I'm sure you can be healing. But first I have news for you." but he nodded to their guests and communicated without words "But I need to talk to ye alone, without them." And she nodded, not entirely understanding it all but understanding the next step.

"And I have news for you," said Claire, still worried but regaining her composure.

They were walking towards the horse's enclosure now, when William ran up and took the reins from Jaime, followed by Lord John. "Mr. Fraser," he said "I need to show my father my new fishing prowess, but before I do, can I take care of the horse?" Jaime said he'd much appreciate it, and let William have the reins while he took Claire's elbow and lead her toward the cabin. He exchanged a nod with Lord John on the way, and heartfully grabbed him by the shoulder, without words expressing his gratitude at John's survival, but clearly indicating their reunion would have to wait. Lord John went to help the young earl with the horse and tack.

"Ian," Jaime said, "glad to see you on the mend as well. Give your auntie and I a moment or two, will ye lad? Can you get to the corn crib by yourself? and then I will come find ye as I have news you will need to hear as well."

"Aye, Uncle, thank ye and welcome home," said Ian, and gratefully went to the corn crib to lay down, happy to get out from under whatever severe mood his uncle was suffering.

"Jaime," said Claire, once they had got inside and closed the door, "What is it? You're scaring me." 

"Claire," was all he said, and then dropped into a chair and laid his head in his hands as if in prayer. Perhaps he was. Perhaps he wasn't, but either way he needed a moment to compose his thoughts.

She reached out and touched his head and he lifted his eyes to hers, tears spilling out. He had not realized he had begun to cry until they fell on his face rather than the table. 

"Claire," he said again, voice husky - grief, anger, relief, sadness, gladness, pride, joy.

She saw he did not need a healer. She knew he needed her. She knew it the way she knew it after Prestonpans. She knew it in the way they coupled right before she left more than 20 years ago, right before Culloden. And she saw in his eyes all the grief and pain, fear and survival and death following Culloden. She saw it the way she sometimes could see inside a patient's gut just by feel and instinct; she saw it the way she somehow knew that skull she held in Joe Abernathy's office just a few years ago had been Gellis's skull. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she knew. 

She gently pushed him back from the table and raised her skirts, straddling his lap, pushing his kilt up with her knees. He was ready for her and groaned with gratitude at her understanding. As she lowered herself onto him she hesitated for a split second. Jaime caught the hesitation saying with a lopsided grin of embarrassment and satisfaction, "Don't worry, Sassenach, when I built the chairs I thought they might be used this way and made sure they would be strong enough to not break." So, she continued on her way reassured.

After they regrounded themselves in each other, Claire remained on Jaime's lap, joined, with her head on his shoulder, waiting.

Eventually, Jaime began.

"After Culloden you cannot imagine the fear across the countryside. I know you told me what would happen. But you saying it and me living through it…” he trailed off.

And then looking into Claire’s eyes, he squared his shoulders and went on. “Of course, traitors were going to be rounded up and dealt with by the Crown. But we were wholly unprepared for Cumberland and the butchery that followed. We had no idea the destruction of our homes and families, our traditions, our very clothes, Claire, would be so important to people so far away from us. People who would never meet us were seemingly bent not only on our defeat but our destruction. Men who did not fight were still dragged from their homes and shot in front of their women and children; women who had no one left to protect them were raped or had to turn to serving the Redcoats on their backs. Children went hungry. Hell, Claire, everyone went hungry. Had it not been for the potatoes you told us to plant and the wee greens you told us to eat all winter everyone at Lollybruch would have died. And still I was happy you were not there to suffer with us. I know I've said it before, but I dinna know how much I meant it until now. Nacognaweto's village is gone." 

Claire startled. 

"No, Mo Nighean Donn, it wasn't a raid or Redcoats, just disease, but so many of them died they had to burn their longhouses and it smelled just like the crofts burning." Claire nestled back in closer and just listened still. 

"Claire," he began again, "I am so ashamed." She leaned back to look him in the eye. 

He refused to flinch. He had told the young lord to take his consequences like a man and so he must. He looked her in the eye and admitted his sin, his secret, his terrible secret, "I thanked God you were safe, and Brianna was safe, and William was safe, and only after I thanked God for that gift did I pray for John and remember all those who God did not see to keep safe. And young William, young Lord Ellsmere, I cursed him because I thought I had sired another heartless distant lord who someday would destroy other peoples like mine had been spared," and here the tears started again falling from his eyes so plentiful he could barely see Claire, waiting on his next words. 

Jaime took a deep breath and he met her, eye to eye, blue to amber, and continued. "Claire," he whispered now, "I cursed my part in bringing into this world my son. And I am ashamed because the next morning he humbled me beyond kenning. He gave his horse and all he had with him, including our food, to the Indians. He is not a cruel distant Lord. He is a kind and generous young man and I judged him so badly because so many before him hurt us to the point of no recovery. Like Nacognaweto's village, we highlanders are largely no more. I am so ashamed." he finished and he awaited Claire's judgement of him.

Claire listened to Jaime and felt again the distance of those 20 lost years weighing on her heart. And yet understood more so now than ever before the importance of her having gone, for her, for Brianna, for the gift William is to Jaime. No, she had wondered about this more than once - her presence here or there, in this time or the other, perhaps it does not change history. She could not prevent Culloden. But perhaps she did change the trajectory of individual lives and perhaps that was enough. 

She saw Jaime was waiting for her to respond. So she did. She pulled him deeper into her embrace, and she wiped his face with her hands; she kissed his gently on his mouth and said the only thing she could think to say: "Jaime, if you are guilty, then so am I, so are we all. If you are ashamed then I will share your shame. We choose what we think is right at that moment. It is all we can do. And it is what we will continue to do, whether in this time or another. I believe William acted as he did because you are his father, not despite it. And because you are who you are, Lord John is part of his life and helped him become a young man of worth. All I can say to any of that is: Well done. Well met." 

And with that she kissed him again until he forgot to weep anymore. 

  
  



End file.
